


The Trouble with Toothbrushes

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 17:49:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13506678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Prompt: It's weekend. M and S are working on a case. M uses Scullys restroom and finds a second toothbrush and an used aftershave





	The Trouble with Toothbrushes

He’d driven for hours, broken speed limits. Dawn seeped across the sky and he swigged his sludgy coffee as the last few miles of coastal road slipped by. The ocean rolled dark green beyond, topped with foamy breakers. Scully’s voice echoed through his tired mind.

“I don’t need you here, Mulder. I’m fine. There is no case. I just did the local PD a favour. This place is tiny and the ME is on vacation.”

A few calls later and he’d discovered that she’d been asked to perform a couple of autopsies on victims of what seemed to be a serial killer with an unusual MO. On what was supposed to be a weekend break. The more he dug, the more it sounded like she’d deliberately headed to this seaside town as a replacement for the ME. She’d been at Quantico with her. And the way the Police Chief spoke, calling her Dana all the time, got under his skin.

“The bodies have been mutilated and they’ve never seen anything like it,” she told him. He was already throwing clothes in an overnight bag. “But it’s not an X-File.”

“So what’s the cause of death? Where were the bodies found? How many more of them are there?” He scrabbled at the back of the bathroom cupboard for his washbag. Where the fuck was that thing?

“Mulder…” a noise in the background, a deep guttural chuckle to which she responded with a hushed giggle, and then she cut him off. “I’ve got to go, Mulder. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said to his phone. He’d pick up anything he needed on when he got there.

He flashed his badge to the motel clerk and before he’d even pocketed it, the man handed him a spare key to her room. He crossed the parking lot and stood in front of room 27. He should probably phone her to warn her he was on his way. He really should. He fished for his phone but put it back. She’d never let him in. She’d blast him out through his earpiece and he might as well let her do it face to face. He knocked.

She pulled back the door and he walked in before she could even rub the sleep out of her eyes. “Morning sunshine, I really need to use your bathroom.” He handed her the empty coffee cup and slunk by before she could kneecap him. She hadn’t even uttered his name before he locked the door and flipped the seat up. Relief flowed out. For a long time.

“Mulder!” she banged on the door. “What the hell? I knew you’d come, you shit.”

Relief dried up. “You know me too well, Scully.”

“Well, you clearly don’t know me. I’m pissed, Mulder. You’d better come out of that bathroom with the best apology on your lips or you’re going to find out just how pissed I am.”

The small room was packed with lotions and pots and bottles, some familiar products. It felt illicit, staring at them, letting his eyes wander over her personal items. But she was outside, packing heat and fury. He needed a moment for her to calm down, see sense. He was her partner. She was on a case. They were supposed to work together. What would she think if he ditched her…he never would…

“Mulder. Come out. Right. Fucking. Now.” The door bowed under her furious hammering. He stepped back in surprise, the sink digging into his waist. He turned and caught a bottle that dislodged from the small shelf. Pour Homme by Paco Rabanne.

“You’re walking a fine line, Mulder.” Her voice was now a low threatening hum.

“Nearly done. How’s Chief Hollins?”

A beat. A definite pause. “Who?”

As if she didn’t know. “Hollins. The Chief of Police. What’s his take? Is he sniffing out suspects?” He squeezed the bottle in his palm, the black edges of the glass digging into his skin.

“Mulder, if you’d like to get out of my bathroom and give me one good reason why you’re here, on my vacation weekend, you might find I’m happy to share details of this case with you. But all the while I’m talking to a door in MY motel room, I’m just smelling a rat. A huge, stinking, untrusting, kinda stalky rat.”

Stalky? Untrusting? He put the bottle down on the shelf and braced his hands on the sink. He blinked. Two toothbrushes. Two. Toothbrushes. He picked up the blue one and gripped its handle. Until his knuckles turned white. He unlocked the door and stormed out.

Scully leapt out of his way. “Jesus, Mulder.”

He watched as her nightgown swung around her thighs. Not nightgown, really. Not like those satin things she normally wore. This was more like a tee. Oversized. A man’s tee. Grey and falling to mid-thigh. “Just how many teeth do you have, Scully?” he said, thrusting the brush into her face.

She ducked back, looked at the toothbrush, then at him, before raising herself up to whatever her full height was in bare feet, and folded her arms. “I have 32, Mulder. Just like most adults. Sixteen on top, sixteen on bottom, but sometimes,” she said, stepping forward and whipping the brush out his hand, “Sometimes I wish I could grow an extra set or three just so I could chew you out even harder. What the actual fuck are you doing, Mulder? You look like you’ve driven here in one hit, overnight.”

He turned away, ready to retrieve the offending cologne.

“Oh my God, Mulder. You did, didn’t you? What is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me, Scully? I’m not the one who’s investigating an X File on holiday.” He used air quotes and she chuffed out a long sigh as she walked past him with the toothbrush. “And I’m not the one with two toothbrushes and man’s cologne in my bathroom.”

“I see,” she said, appearing at the door with a mouthful of foaming toothpaste. “So you think I’m sleeping with Chief Hollins, do you?”

He spread his hands out. “I didn’t say that, Scully. And who you sleep with is entirely your business…”

“You’re damned right, Mulder. And for the last time, this isn’t an X File.” She spat and ran the tap, scooping water into her mouth with the brush. Her hair hung over the side of her face, slightly mussed still, and the tee rose up as she bent. “Do you mind?” she said, grabbing the door handle as he backed out. She slammed it shut.

He sat on the bed, trying hard not to pull back the covers to look for sheet patterns and…

“Mulder, if you start going through my things out there…”

He clapped his hands together, laid them in his lap, looked around the room at the violently bright orange curtains, the flocked wallpaper, the woodland landscape hanging lop-sided over the bed. And when she finally emerged, wearing a towelling robe and a death scowl, she was holding his washbag. His missing washbag.

“I packed your stuff back in it,” she said, handing it to him. “I didn’t realise it was in my bag until I got here. Yours and mine together, nestled at the bottom of my case, like they belonged there. I can never really go anywhere without you, can I?”

Nestled. Belonged. “Oh.”

“And I’ll wash your tee and give it back to you next week.”

His tee. His missing heather grey one that he liked to sleep in because it reminded him of… “Don’t worry about it, Scully. I’m…”

“Sorry? Sorry for rushing up here for no reason. Sorry for not trusting me when I said it wasn’t an X File? Sorry for ruining my vacation weekend?” She grabbed a suit from the closet and disappeared back in to the bathroom.

Yes, all of the above. He flopped back down on the bed and waited for her to return. She slipped on her heels in silence. She checked her medical bag, put her phone inside and grabbed the car keys. “Are you coming, Mulder?”

He probably never would again. Humiliation was a real downer. “What for?”

“To see the bodies and the case reports, seeing as how you’ve made the trip. I know Chief Hollins would love to meet you. Your reputation has travelled up here too.” She smiled as she opened the door. A genuine smile. A Scully smile.

“I am sorry, Scully,” he said as he slid into the passenger seat, relieved not to have to drive anywhere. An aroma filled the car. He inhaled as he she pulled the seatbelt over her chest. Pour Homme. His cologne. Not on him.

“I know,” she put her hand on his thigh. “You’re you. You always are. And,” she said, squeezing his knee and holding his gaze. “Truth is, I missed you.”


End file.
